Well I’m sitting in the salon awaiting my turn in ‘The Chair’. As usual my stylist (and bestie) is running late. LIFE FACT: if your stylist always runs late they are a keeper! That means they want you to look good before you leave and they really take pride in their work.
Hair has always been important in my world.
Mum was a hairdresser so my younger years smelled of perming solution, sorting hard plastic rollers, or passing pins. Her philosophy was there is nothing a good hair wash and a set of Carmen rollers couldn’t cure with a good dose of mascara and strong red lip.
She was right.
This was driven home the morning after she died.
And again the day of her funeral (yes I was with my bestie getting the then red long locks put up and putting on a good layer of slap and waterproof mascara – for good measure; some well glued falsies). If I had turned up looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward I’m sure a thunderbolt would have struck me down right outside the crematorium.
So hair is my thing. It used to be colour and cut but after the allergic reaction which left my scalp feeling like a toads ass I’ve grown it all out to my natural silver. Yes I’m not yet 40 and I’m all over grey – thankfully a nice grey with the help of a little purple toning shampoo.
Fortunately the last year has been all about going grey, young peeps sporting gunmetal with dark roots, so it just looks like I’m on trend. Not sure how I will fare after the trend is dead, but I’ll cross that bridge then.
The key to rockin’ silver pre 50? Cut, cut, cut! Something edgy, something that people actually ask you about (this has happened so much I struggle to get an appointment with my bestie these days!). I love the Fudge range, does the job and smells divine.
So today I’m passing over the recent penchant for my under cut and the lot is coming off. Bye bye long top hello pixie!!
Until I get bored again that is.